Quills
by Kylara Kitsune
Summary: There was something about the way she looked, when she sat at that desk, twirling a quill between her fingers. Charlie/Hermione.


**AN: I can't stop writing Charlie/Hermione at the moment. I have no idea why. This is for prompt 6 from the 30 breathtakes list - "handwriting". As ever, not my characters.**

The quill flowed over the parchment as Hermione Granger wrote up her research notes, preparing them for publication. For the past few months, she'd been working on the Wolfsbane potion, attempting to improve upon it in a number of ways. All she'd managed was a slight reduction in the time taken to brew the potion, which was a huge disappointment for her. Reaching the end of the roll of parchment, she placed the quill on the table and fastened the lid on her bottle of ink. Sighing, she began to stretch, raising her arms above her head.

"Finished it already?" A low voice in her ear, as a pair of hands settled on her shoulders, easing the tension in the muscles there.

"No, not yet. I've got about three more rolls of parchment to write."

"It can wait, though. Your dinner's ready."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He didn't really mind when she brought her work home with her; there was something about watching her writing furiously that attracted him. Focused completely on her research, she would frequently lose all track of time, only reappearing for meals when she was reminded. It was lucky, really, that he was seven years older than she was – they'd never been at school together. According to his brother, Ron, Hermione had always been like this; old habits die hard, after all. If he'd known her at school, if they'd been only a year or two apart in age, she'd never have managed to do any work at all.

It had been like that when they'd first moved in together. She'd be sitting at that very desk, quill poised above the parchment, head down so that her brown curls spilled over her shoulders. When he arrived home from work, sweaty and tired, the sight of her would be enough to make him forget how hard he'd been working all day. The number of times he'd swept everything off the desk, pushed her down onto it and made love to her... he wasn't sure how many times, but it was definitely a lot. What was even more surprising than this unusual attraction was the fact that she hadn't complained about her papers being ruined, or her handwriting smudged.

The first time had been something really special. Caught up in a wave of pure lust, he'd lifted her out of the chair, turned her to face him and sat her on the edge of the desk. She'd been wearing a skirt, rather than the Muggle jeans they both normally favoured, and some part of his mind couldn't help but wonder if she'd been planning this, or at least expecting it. Her fingers had deftly unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside, then gentle fingertips explored the scars on his arms and chest. She'd seen them before, knew how he'd got each and every one, and wasn't afraid to touch them, like some women he'd known. They paled in comparison, though, to the gorgeous creature in front of him now. Her bushy hair had given way to sleek curls, and the figure his brother had been too blind to notice was slender, but had curves in all the right places. He'd pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her breasts in a lemon-yellow lacy bra.

"Do the panties match, Hermione?" He'd been unable to stop the question, it just fell from his lips as he moved to kiss her.

"Why don't you find out?" she'd whispered back.

Stifling a groan, he'd run his hands up her thighs, under the skirt, and removed the underwear in question. To his delight, they did indeed match the bra. It was most definitely a night to remember. Hermione, never normally lost for words, was shy when it came to vocalising her desires, so he'd whispered in her ear, telling her in explicit detail what he was going to do, what he wanted, teasing her with his fingers and tongue until she was begging, pleading with him, the words just flowing as she clung to him, trembling.

He'd learned her body that night, figured out where and how she liked to be touched, teased her, turned her on, made her come over and over. She'd been shy and self-conscious at first, her only experience being with Ron, who really hadn't had a clue what to do with a woman like Hermione. He'd just wanted her to lie there while he screwed her, then he'd rolled over and gone to sleep, snoring his head off, as usual. Having coaxed the story out of her, the first time she'd shied away from his touch, he had vowed to be different, to make her realise what her first time should have been like, to make sure she was satisfied, his own desires be damned.

"What about you?" she'd whispered, lying in his arms, still trembling.

"Don't worry about me, Hermione. I wanted tonight to be all about you. I'm not going to push you into anything if you're not ready."

"I trust you, Charlie. Show me what it should have been."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." She nodded, just to make sure he'd understood – her voice had been a little shaky.

"If you want to stop, all you have to do is tell me." He'd rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

"I don't want to stop." She'd looked into his eyes as she said it, and he'd been unable to look away from the warm cinnamon brown pools as his hands gently guided her hips into position. Feeling him at her entrance, she'd tensed, looking away, and he'd waited for her, not moving, just caressing her skin lightly with his fingertips.

Opening her eyes again, she looked at him in astonishment. "You didn't..."

"I didn't. I'm not going to do anything you don't want." This time, she believed him when he said it. Shifting her hips slightly, she felt him beginning to slide inside her. She waited for the pain, but it never materialised. Instead, there was just a feeling of being complete, like she'd found something that had been missing, without even knowing it. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to move, his hands never stopping their ministrations.

She'd called out his name, clinging to his upper arms, fingernails leaving indentations in his skin. Yes, they hurt a little, but it was nothing compared to the injuries he'd had before, and it was worth it to know just how he was making her feel, his sexy, passionate witch who just needed the right encouragement to be truly amazing in the bedroom.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

She leaned back into his arms, reaching up to kiss him, murmuring in a sultry voice, "Dinner can wait, don't you think?"


End file.
